


A City Beneath The Clouds

by secretsidgenowriter



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood Drinking, Lovers to acquaintances to enemies to friends to lovers, M/M, Mind Reading, Minor Character Death, Murder, Non-Graphic Violence, One Night Stands, Secrets, Supernatural Elements, non-hockey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-06 10:22:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16386095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretsidgenowriter/pseuds/secretsidgenowriter
Summary: The first time they kiss, Sid bites Geno’s bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.Geno really should have figured it out right then and there.





	A City Beneath The Clouds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [XylophoneCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/XylophoneCat/gifts).



> I have a ton of people to thank (especially my beta because this fic wouldn't be half of what it is without them) but I'll do it after the reveal so I don't give anything away. 
> 
> I tried to hit as many of your likes as possible.....dear god I hope you like it.

The first time they kiss, Sid bites Geno’s bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

Geno really should have figured it out right then and there.

Sid has him pressed against the wall just inside Geno’s front door, their thighs slotted together and his fingers threaded in Geno’s hair.

“Sorry,” Sid says as he swipes at the the corner of Geno’s mouth with his tongue. “Sorry.”

Geno wants to tell him that it’s all right. He wants to tell him to do it again. He wants to laugh and make a show of Sid’s inherent Canadian politeness no matter the circumstance.

But mostly, what he wants — in a way that’s too big for his body to even comprehend — is for Sid to drag him down the hall to his bedroom and fuck him until he can’t remember his own name.

Sid pulls back suddenly. The only light in the apartment is from the fixture above the stove but Sid’s eyes shine golden anyway. His blood-red lips pull into a grin.

Sid slips his fingers out of Geno’s hair and slips them in between the third and fourth button of Geno’s dress shirt.

“Come on,” he says, tugging just enough to pull Geno from off the wall, his knuckles over Geno’s racing heart as he leads him down the hall.

Sid’s skin is a cool balm against Geno’s overheated body. Sid bends him over, wraps an arm around Geno’s chest and forces Geno’s back to arch.

Geno gropes blindly behind him and tries to dig his fingers into Sid’s thigh but Geno’s hand is sweaty and it slips right off Sid’s smooth skin.

Geno can’t speak. He’s overwhelmed. He can’t tell Sid he wants him to go faster, slower, sharper, deeper, but Sid seems to know anyways as he mouths at the hinge of Geno’s jaw and nips at his earlobe.

Geno lost his virginity when he was fifteen in an embarrassing, fumbling encounter with a girl only slightly older and more experienced than him. He came fast and hard, but he’s learned a lot since then. He’s older and in the best shape of his life. He’s had an impressive number of sexual partners. He knows how to make it feel good and how to make it last.

But now, with Sid so heavy and solid and _amazing_ behind him, Geno might as well be fifteen again.

“Gonna,” Geno gasps out. His voice is raw and worn even though it’s the first full word he’s said since he asked Sid to come home with him from the bar.

“I know,” Sid says, smooth as silk. He doesn’t sound like he’s out of breath. He doesn’t sound like he’s even trying, but he’s shaking Geno right to his core.

Sid rolls his hips once more and Geno comes and the feeling Sid’s teeth grazing the back of his neck is the last thing he registers before he blacks out.

When he comes to Sid is sitting on the bed beside him, back straight and almost fully dressed. Geno’s body still feels hot and his heart is still pounding in his chest so he knows he couldn’t have been out long.

Sid must be in a hurry to leave.

“Come back,” Geno slurs as he pats the empty space beside him and something like relief crosses Sid’s face for a moment before he goes stony again. “Give me five minutes. We go again.”

Sid loops his tie around his neck and begins to work on the knot. “You’re going to need more than five minutes,” he says and Geno rolls his eyes.

“Then give me. You have curfew?”

Sid glances out the window at the night sky. They left the blinds open and Geno laughs to himself at the thought of giving nosy neighbors a show.

Sid’s quiet as he slides the knot up to the base of his throat and stands. He already has his shoes on.

“You just gonna leave,” Geno asks. “That’s it?”

“Who said it was ever going to be anything more?”

Geno pushes himself up on one elbow. “Is right what everyone say about you. Heartless.”

Sid’s hand stills on his chest where he’s been smoothing it over his tie.

“Have a good night, Detective Malkin. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

He leaves without saying another word and Geno listens, trying to catch Sid’s footfalls as he makes his way out of the apartment.

It’s silent until Geno hears the front door open and then snick softly closed.

 

-

 

Geno has been in Seattle for two months and is still adjusting to the rain.

He stopped thinking it’ll ever get better after being laughed at for asking if the ever-present cloud cover will clear come springtime.

“All that’ll change is the temperature,” Officer Fleury told him with a heavy pat to his back. “The rain will always be here.”

So he bought waterproof shoes and a heavy raincoat and accepted that he’ll always be a little bit damp.

Aside from the weather, the transition from Moscow to the States has been mostly smooth. He feels as though he could live here for a hundred years and there would still be a language barrier but the city has been good to him. There’s a movie theater a half-block from his apartment and more coffee shops than he knows what to do with, some of which even offer halfway decent black tea. He does his best to stay away from the touristy spots and is still on the hunt for a good Russian bakery but he doesn't have much to complain about.

He’s lucky he was given this opportunity. It is a fresh start from a place of stagnation. There was nothing growing, nothing moving back in Moscow. He needed to get out. He needed something new and challenging. He needed to be kept busy and there is always work to be done here. Unfortunately, in his specific line of work, that’s not a good thing.

The rain has slowed to a drizzle by the time he steps out of the police-issued Crown Victoria that has certainly seen better days. Geno doesn’t smoke but the interior still smells of stale cigarettes, there’s rust beginning to form along the gas cap, and he’s always careful to shut the door behind him gently, like he’s afraid it’s going to fall off.

He flashes his badge at the officer at the edge of the sidewalk and they nod to each other as he lifts the crime scene tape so Geno can duck under.

“About time you showed up,” Officer Letang says as he leads Geno down the alley.

“Caucasian female, mid-twenties,” Letang says as they come to a stop beside Officer Fleury, who is talking quietly to the medical examiner.

Dr. Knight nods to both of them before turning around to take more photos of the surrounding area.

“Garbage man found her this morning,” Fleury tells him as Geno crouches down to get a better look at the woman. “Knight thinks she’s been out here all night.”

The woman is wearing a coat zipped all the way up and jeans. The shoelace on her left sneaker is untied and her hair is fanned out in wet clumps behind her head. Her skin is a ghostly translucent blue.

“No obvious cause of death,” Letang says. “And it’s gonna be hard to find any DNA with the rain last night, though there might be some under her nails if she fought back. We’re just gonna have to wait and see.”

“We know who she is?” Geno asks.

Fleury shakes his head. “No ID. We’ve got guys searching every dumpster in a ten-block radius. Hoping the killer didn’t toss it into the sewer. With all the rain it’d be long gone.”

“She doesn’t match any missing persons reports,” Letang adds. Then he pauses and presses his lips together. “Did something bite you?”

Geno looks up and Letang points to the back of his neck.

“You’ve got like … mosquito bites or something. Right under your collar.”

Geno’s hand flies to the back of his neck. He can feel two small bumps, about an inch and a half apart, right at the top of his spine.

Fleury tugs the fabric down so he can see and hums.

“Mosquitos, in this weather? Too cold for them,” Fleury says as Geno stands, his hand still covering the bites. “Do they itch?”

“No, didn’t even feel. Haven’t been anywhere with bugs.”

“Bed bugs,” Letang says as he takes a half-step back. “Brand-new apartment with bed bugs.”

“Not bed bugs,” Geno says as he straightens out his coat and flips up his hood for good measure. “Maybe rash.”

“That’s really no better.”

“Too bad they’re not more to the side. You could call it a hickey,” Fleury says and Letang elbows him.

“G’s too old for hickeys, aren’t you?”

Geno’s mind flashes to Sid’s mouth, hot and eager all over his throat. “Everyone over fifteen is too old,” he says evenly then adds, “Don’t talk about hickeys in front of victim. Disrespect.”

The reality of the situation sets back in and they all sober up.

“We wait to see if they find ID. Then we get sketch out, find out if anyone recognize her, go from there. She needs name,” Geno says. Fleury and Letang both nod as they move out of the way so Dr. Knight and her team can finish up.

“What do you know about Sidney Crosby?” Geno asks as they wait for the scene to clear. Geno’s leaning against his car and scrolling through his phone, trying for casual.

Letang snorts. “He’s a dick.”

Geno’s thumb stills on the screen. He’s heard rumors about him, whispers about how ruthless he is when he gets a witness on the stand. He’ll tear them to shreds to prove his point. But rumors are just that and it’s different to hear it from someone that he works with everyday.

“He’s not a dick,” Fleury says. “He’s a lawyer.”

“Lawyers are dicks.”

“You don’t think Kessel is a dick. Or Zach.”

“That’s different. They’re prosecutors and Zach’s just a kid. Besides, they’re on our side. Crosby is a defense attorney.”

“Someone has to defend,” Geno points out. “Is law.”

Letang rolls his eyes. “It’s the way he does it. He’s smug.”

“He means he’s good at it,” Fleury clarifies. “I don’t think he’s ever lost a case.”

“He puts guilty people back on the streets,” Letang spits. “No matter how ironclad you think your case is, he gets in there and rips it apart. Fucking jury whisperer. What pisses me off the most is that he usually does that shit for free. He doesn't care about the money, no matter how high-profile the case is. A few years back we caught a guy on a double homicide. Killed his mother and father. We had everything on this asshole. Motive, no alibi, murder weapon was his own nine iron. The media was going crazy over it because they looked like such a nice family on the outside. They just didn’t believe that this kid could snap. We had the guy. Then all of a sudden Crosby is taking over, for free, and a month later the guy walks. Not guilty. Crosby twisted all the evidence around. Made our guys look like incompetent idiots on the stand.” Letang shakes his head. “It’s like he gets off on getting murderers off.”

He gives Geno a sidelong look.

“Why do you want to know about Crosby, anyway?”

Geno shrugs and looks back to his phone. “No reason,” he lies. They don’t need to know how last night he went to a bar near his place to unwind and spotted Sid in the corner. Geno had seen him around under the fluorescent lighting of the station or at the courthouse but never in the dim lights of a bar with his fingers wrapped around a glass. He looked untouchable. It made Geno want to reach out. They don’t need to know how Geno gathered every bit of confidence he had and walked over or how Sid let him buy him another drink and how, later, after pressing their knees together under the table, Geno invited him back to his place. They don’t need to know what happened after that. He doesn’t know them that well. Yet.

“Saw him in a bar last night,” Geno says lightly. “He’s a little weird, no?”

“Yeah,” Letang says and Fleury nods.

“He’s a little strange. Keeps to himself a lot. I think he was offered a book deal once, you know, about how he always wins his cases, but he turned it down. Said he didn’t want the publicity.”

“Then he should stop putting criminals back on the street,” Letang says. “Fucking Crosby.”

He pushes himself away from the car as Dr. Knight gives the all clear and she and her team move the body into the back of the van.

“Let you guys know what I find as soon as I find it,” she calls before she slams the doors shut.

Geno zips his coat up to his neck as the skies open up.

 

-

 

Geno is only two bites into his morning breakfast when the phone rings.

“You should come down here,” Dr. Knight says.

“Can’t tell me over phone?” Geno asks. He’s already deep into his morning routine with his feet kicked up on his desk and a full mug of hot tea waiting for him. He’s not in any hurry to get up.

The doctor is quiet for a long moment. “You need to see this,” she says and then hangs up.

Geno sighs but puts his feet down and picks up his keys.

“I missed it at first,” Knight says as she tips the victim’s head gently to the side. “It was hidden in her hair. I couldn’t see them at the scene.”

Geno squints. “Can’t see anything now. What you bring me down here to see?”

Dr. Knight sighs and grabs two sets of photos off the back counter.

“Right here,” she says as she points at the victim's neck in the photo. “See? These marks right here. Approximately four and a half centimeters apart, barely a millimeter in length. Just a pin prick. It’s strange. It’s almost bat-like.”

Geno rubs at the back of his neck, over his own marks. He had twisted and turned in front of the mirror at the station, trying to catch a glimpse of them. They’re very similar to what he sees in the photo.

“You think bat bit her?”

“No,” Dr. Knight says slowly. “I said they were _bat-like._ These are too far apart. It can’t be a bat. It doesn’t make sense.” She stares down at the photos with her lips pursed. “I don’t know what they are.”

“You find cause of death yet?”

“That’s the other thing, the bigger thing. The official cause of death is exsanguination. Severe blood loss.”

“No blood at scene,” Geno says, thinking aloud. “Was killed somewhere else and dumped? Maybe rain wash away?”

Dr. Knight shakes her head. “No. When I say severe blood loss, I mean _total_ blood loss. She doesn’t have any left. Nothing in her veins, nothing in her heart and the weirdest thing —.”

“That not weirdest thing?”

She points to the photos. “These two marks are the only ones on her body. There’s no other wound. Certainly none that would cause her to lose all her blood that quickly. There’s no way she could have bled out through those tiny puncture holes. There’s just no way. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Not normal,” Geno says, and Dr. Knight breathes out a shaky, uncertain laugh.

“No. Definitely not.”

 

-

 

“What the fuck?” Fleury says softly as he looks over the report Dr. Knight sent back with Geno. “What the fuck?”

Letang squints as he reads over Fleury’s shoulder then plucks the photos of the marks out of the folder.

“These kind of look like the ones on the back of your neck.”

“Do not,” Geno says, but he knows the protest sounds weak. “Whatever mine is not kill me.”

“Yet,” Letang says absentmindedly as he tips his head to the side to study the photos.

Geno rubs his hand over the back of his neck and tries to focus on the backlog of files in front of him.

 

-

 

That night Geno eats a frozen microwave dinner over the sink while the rain pitter-patters against the window.

The street is quiet beneath him, save for a few cars splashing through the puddles that have formed in the dips of the pavement.

He leaves his fork in the sink and rubs at his eyes with both fists. He’s had a long day and, with the city’s pervasive dampness, the temperature in his apartment always seems to hang just below truly comfortable. He should take a hot shower, throw on his Seattle PD sweatshirt and go to bed. Only he can’t seem to settle himself down and after pacing in his cramped living room for twenty minutes he tucks his feet into his shoes and pulls on his coat.

Sid’s not sitting at the booth in the corner. Geno wasn’t expecting him to be but, still, disappointment plants itself heavily over the center of his chest.

Geno orders a second drink and tells himself it’s better that Sid’s not here. Sid had made it very clear that what happened was a one-time thing and, right now, Geno’s just lonely enough and not entirely sober enough that he’d make a pass at him if the opportunity were to present itself. He doesn’t need to feel the sting of rejection a second time.

After his third drink, a double this time, Geno’s telling the bartender that Sid isn’t even that great.

“Co-worker know Sid better,” Geno says. He’s holding the glass loosely in his hand and the bartender can’t seem to take his eyes off it. “Not as well as I know him, but Letang knows who he is. He say he’s a …” He pauses and tries to think of the word. Dick or douche, he can’t remember, but what comes out of his mouth is a mashup of both that makes him laugh hard enough that he has to rest his forehead on the bar.

“I think you’ve had enough, buddy,” the bartender says as he takes the glass and moves it a safe distance away. “Let me call you a cab.”

Geno gets to his feet and waves a dismissive hand. “Can walk,” he says as he digs into his wallet and pulls out too many bills. He drops them all onto the bar top anyway and fights against the clumsiness of his fingers as he tries to zip his coat.

He’s still working on it as he steps onto the sidewalk. The wind and rain have picked up and he curses at both in Russian. The alcohol is thrumming through his system and the rain is getting in his eyes as he steps off the curb, ignoring the flashing _Don’t Walk_ sign on the opposite side.

His world has shrunk to wind and rain and alcohol and this stupid zipper that keeps getting stuck halfway up. He’s midway across the street when the zipper finally slides most of the rest of the way up and his victory whoop is drowned out by a car horn.

Suddenly, his ass is on the pavement, water seeping through his jeans as a heavy weight holds him down.

He fights to get up as the driver of the car sticks his head out the window and yells at him as he keeps driving. The words are lost in the pounding of the rain but Geno can hazard a guess, even through his fogged-up mind.

He tries to roll and — for one, long, panic-inducing moment — finds he can't move. Even with his thinking less than straight, his fight-or-flight instinct kicks hard under his ribs and he's about to start struggling when, just as quickly as it appeared, the weight is gone. Geno jerks, not quite aborting the blind flail of a right hook before collecting himself and squinting up at a figure backlit by the damp red glow of the stop light.

All he can make out are broad shoulders and dark hair but, somehow, he just _knows._

“Sidney?” he asks the shape and, in the span of a blink, the figure is gone and he’s sitting alone in an empty intersection.

The _Walk_ sign flashes as he picks himself up and finishes crossing the street.

The stop light shifts from red to green to yellow and back again as he looks around and tries to piece everything together.

But there’s nothing to find. No clue or hint of evidence to be seen. It’s only him standing on the sidewalk, soaked through to the bone.

He shuts his eyes, gets his wits about him and zips his coat all the way up then burrows down in it like it’s going to ward off the prickle of fear and confusion that’s still running down his spine.

In the morning he eats a greasy breakfast to combat his hangover and nearly convinces himself that the whole thing was a dream. It wasn’t Sid. It wasn’t anyone. No one moves that fast. No one moves _like that._

He _wants_ to write the whole thing off as a dream — he would have already — but he can’t deny how sore his tailbone feels or the gravel that’s embedded itself into his palms.

 

-

 

“Her name is Alyssa Savoy,” Letang announces to the bullpen. “Twenty-four years old, originally from Polson, Montana, wherever that is.” He hands out copies of her file and Geno flips his open.

Alyssa has been lying in the morgue downtown for a week and a half before the sketch that was posted on the news finally turned up something.

“She signed the lease on her apartment three weeks ago but hadn’t found a steady job yet,” Letang continues. “Her parents died when she was young. She has a grandmother with dementia in Missoula and an estranged sister in Helena. She was less than helpful. It was like she didn’t even care.”

 _No one missed her_ , Geno thinks. That’s why this took so long.

“Neighbors said she was quiet and kept to herself. She quit her most recent waitress gig three days before she was killed. Schultz and Maatta are headed there now to ask if she ever had a problem with anyone. Maybe a disgruntled customer, boss, co-worker.” Letang shrugs. “It’s not much to go on.”

“At least she has name,” Geno says quietly. She was so young and, judging by the photos on her Instagram, so full of life. She came to the city to start living it fully and look where it got her.

“We’re hoping we get the DNA findings back soon,” Fleury says. “And then we should hope that we can actually do something with them.”

“I don’t like this,” Letang says as he sits on the corner of Geno’s desk. “I don’t like the way she was killed.”

“Nobody likes.”

“But it doesn’t freak you out? She was drained of blood right there in an alley. Anyone could have walked by and caught the guy. It’s brazen, even for a murderer.”

“Is cold and wet. People don’t walk.”

Letang rolls his eyes. “Okay, whatever, they don’t walk. But someone still emptied her out through those tiny little holes. How can you not be stuck on that?”

Truthfully, Geno is very much _stuck on that._ He checks the marks on his neck every chance he gets. They’ve been slowly fading and they haven’t bothered him. They haven’t itched or ached and he guesses they’ll be completely gone in a few days, like they were never there.

But he’s sure he won’t forget them, just like he won’t forget the ones that will forever be on the back of Alyssa’s neck.

“I just think we’re overlooking the obvious answer,” Letang says with a shrug. “Vampires.”

Fleury barks a laugh and Geno sets his lips into a thin line. He thought Letang was going somewhere useful with this.

“What?” he asks. “What’s so crazy about that? It fits.”

Fleury rolls his eyes and stage-whispers to Geno, “He read all those ‘Twilight’ books when they came out. Took them on stakeouts and everything.”

“Fuck off,” Letang says, but it lacks any bite. “Stakeouts are boring. I needed something to laugh at.”

Fleury scoffs. “Sure. Laugh.”

Letang wags his finger at both of them. “Neither of you will be laughing when I’m proven right. You’ll owe me drinks.”

 

-

 

Geno goes back to the bar after work every night.

If it were anyone else he would be concerned. It could be seen as a problem. But he’s not getting drunk — not since that night when he ended up on his ass in the intersection — and he has it under control. Most of the time he doesn’t even look over his shoulder to check if Sid’s booth is empty.

It’s like he’s in a constant fight with himself. He doesn’t want to see Sid but he would give almost anything for Sid to be sitting there, looking like a vision just waiting for him.

He wants that first night back. He wants for it never to have happened as much as he wants it to happen again.

He has had opportunities to take someone else home. Men who _accidentally_ bump into him. They apologize with the offer of a drink or their number or an invitation back to their place or, occasionally, just to the bathroom.

It would be easy to say yes to any offer, to sink into the feeling of someone else’s skin on his own.

Instead, he usually tells them the truth when he turns them down. He’s tired, it’s been a long day, or he didn’t come here for this. Sometimes he lies. He’s waiting for someone or he has a boyfriend. He knows it’s terrible, but he likes the look in their eyes when they realize they were too late, that someone else got there first. It makes him feel _wanted._

Tonight he’s telling the truth. It’s a Friday and it has been a long week of listening to Alyssa’s neighbors and former co-workers tell him that they didn't know anything about her and they wouldn’t know if she had problems with anyone. And then there was finding out that the security cameras on the convenience store across the street weren’t even turned on that night after the department went through the trouble of getting a warrant. He feels like he’s spinning his wheels waiting for the DNA test to come back and there's a very real possibility that there’s nothing there either. The test could be inconclusive. Then they’ll be left with nothing.

He feels like he’s failing and he’s in no mood to follow anyone home, even though the guy beside him is tall and handsome and very obviously interested.

“Bad time,” Geno tells him and the guy nods like he understands. Geno goes back to his drink and lets the hum of the bar wash over him. There’s music playing and people laughing and talking. Glasses clinking against each other, high heels tapping against the floor. It’s comforting and familiar and, if the vodka he’s drinking were just a bit stronger, he could imagine he was back in Moscow waiting for his buddy to show up.

He sets his half-empty glass down on the bar and rolls his shoulders. There’s a sharp and sudden tension there, a prickle that starts at the top of his spine and works its way outward, raising his skin to goosebumps and making him shiver. There’s something different, something wrong, and it takes him a moment before he can put a name to it.

He’s being watched.

He spins around on the barstool, looking for the source of his unease, but the only person he can see is Sid, sitting at his usual booth and talking to the waiter. Sid’s holding a crisp bill between his middle and forefinger and the waiter takes it, shoving it deep down in his pocket like he’s afraid it’s going to fall out. If it’s anything less than a fifty Geno would be shocked.

Before Geno can turn back around, Sid catches his eye and raises both his eyebrows and his glass which Geno takes as a clear invitation.

He grabs his own drink off the bar and makes his way over, pausing several times as couples cut in front of him on their way to the bar.

“Like deja vu,” Geno says as he stands in front of the horse-shoe-shaped booth.

“It’s not going to end the same as it did last time,” Sid says and Geno puts his guard back up. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t sit down.”

Geno waffles for a moment before he slides into the booth beside Sid, making sure to leave enough space between them that they don’t touch.

“You seem tired,” Sid says, and Geno laughs.

“Thanks.”

“Do you want to talk about it? You don’t have to,” Sid says quickly. “But if you want … I know your job is hard.”

“What do you know about hard? Best lawyer, always win.”

“I’m not the best lawyer.”

“But you always win.”

“Winning is easy when my clients are always innocent. I just have to expose the truth.”

“You really think they all innocent?”

“I know they are.”

Geno takes a drink then taps his index finger against Sid’s forehead. “You not stupid, Sid. Just easily fooled?”

Sid rolls his eyes and Geno drops his hand. “I’m not stupid or easily fooled. I’m right.”

“How you know?” He shrugs. “I can tell when people are lying to me.”

“Think that’s bullshit,” Geno says and narrows his eyes.

“No, you don’t.”

Deep down Geno knows Sid is right about that. There’s something different about him, something special that Geno can’t even begin to name. It would be unsettling if it wasn’t for the way Geno wants to settle into the open space between them.

“Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?” Sid asks and Geno nods.

“Case,” he says, then looks up at Sid. “Can’t tell you details —”

“I wasn’t expecting you to. I heard there was a murder on the news. They said police were investigating. I wasn’t sure if that was you or not.”

“Is me. Hard to investigate. Not getting anywhere, no answers, no clues. Feel so bad for the girl. She was so young and so alone, no family no friends. Well, some family,” he corrects. “Sister who won’t help with funeral. Says it’s not her fault she move so far away from home. Now she gonna have pauper’s funeral. No one there for her. Awful.” He takes a deep breath and realizes how much he just dumped on Sid. “Sorry, didn’t mean —.”

“It’s okay,” Sid says. “I asked.”

“Feels like no one cares about her.”

“You care,” Sid says as he lays his hand over Geno’s. It’s ice cold and Geno flinches, causing Sid to pull back.

“Sorry.” Sid flexes his fingers and rubs his hands together. “Poor circulation,” he explains and Geno nods before he reaches out and takes Sid’s hand.

“Detective,” Sid says, and he probably means it as a warning but he does nothing to stop Geno from moving closer so their thighs are pressed together beneath the table. “I told you this wasn’t going to happen again.”

Geno tips his head to the side so the tips of their noses brush. There’s only a breath’s distance between them and Geno smiles when he feels Sid’s hand squeeze his own.

“Can tell me to stop,” Geno says as he tilts his head to the other side. Their lips just barely touch and Sid leans forward to press their foreheads together. “Can tell me no.”

Sid looks at him through his lashes and, just as he’s about to let go of Sid’s hand so he can cup his jaw, a shadow passes over them.

The man who slides into the booth on the other side of Sid is startlingly attractive with a bright smile and dark eyes, and he molds himself around Sid’s body like he belong there. He reaches between them and curls his fingers around Sid’s jaw, the same way Geno would have done if he had an extra second between them, and pulls Sid over for a kiss, long and thorough.

“Hey,” the man says when he pulls back. “You start without me? No fair.” Finally, he looks over to Geno and grins as he holds eye contact. “Is he joining us?”

“No,” Geno says as he scrambles out of the booth. He knocks his drink over and vodka spills onto the table. “Just leaving.”

“Geno.” Sid stretches his arm out across the table like he’s reaching for him, like he’s trying to apologize without actually saying the words.

It’s unnecessary. He has nothing to apologize for. He made it very clear that what happened between them was a one-time thing and Geno has spent the past week and a half trying to convince himself he didn’t want it to happen again.

“Have a good night,” Geno says and the man nods, still grinning as he lays his arm across the top of the booth. Geno looks right at Sid as he adds, “have fun,” before turning on his heels and making a beeline toward the exit.

When he gets close to the door he puts his hand out to push it open, but someone beats him to it. Impossibly, Sid is standing beside him. As Geno looks back and forth between the booth and the door trying to figure out how, Sid puts his hand on the crook of his elbow and grabs his attention.

“You’ve been drinking,” Sid says. “I don’t trust you to walk home.”

“Am fine,” Geno answers as he pushes past him and onto the street.The pavement is wet beneath his feet and the air hangs heavy with the promise of yet more rain. He rubs his hand over his face then steps out onto the edge of the curb to hail a cab.

“Let me help you,” Sid says from behind and Geno shakes his head as he takes a misstep off the curb.

Sid’s there, because it feels like Sid is always there, and catches him with an arm around his waist. “Let me help you,” Sid says again and Geno shoves his arm away.

“Don’t need your help,” he snaps but he wanders away from the curb to lean against the building.

Sid looks at him for a long moment before turning back to the street and stepping between two parked cars so he can hail a cab.

Geno folds his arms over his chest and ignores the buzzing of his phone in his coat pocket in favor of watching the hard line of Sid’s back and shoulders as he tries to wave down a cab.

There’s someone inside waiting for Sid and here he is, standing in the evening drizzle trying to get Geno home safely.

Geno knows it’s stupid to read anything into it, that maybe Sid only feels sorry for the way things happened inside and is trying to make it up to him, but still, Geno feels like he’s being taken care of for the first time in a long time.

“Detective,” Sid says and Geno pulls himself from his thoughts. “Are you going to answer that?” Sid’s looking toward the pocket of Geno’s coat, where his phone is still buzzing away.

“You like telling me what to do,” Geno mumbles as he pulls his phone out. Sid flashes him a smile and turns back to the street.

There are four missed calls, all from Letang. Just as he’s about to listen to the first message, his phone rings again.

“Dr. Knight wants to see you,” Letang says instead of a hello, and Geno’s face drops as he continues.

Sid looks over his shoulder as a cab slows to a stop in front of him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, eyebrows knit together in concern.

“Can’t go home,” Geno says. “Found another body.”

 

-

 

“You smell like alcohol,” Dr. Knight says as she meets him at the door to the morgue.

“Was supposed to be time off.”

She snaps on a pair of blue gloves. “Time off. What’s that like?”

“Wouldn't know. You call me in middle of it.”

“I figured you’d want to see this,” she says as she leads him over to the body of a middle-aged man. His skin has the same transparent blue tint as Alyssa’s, and Geno’s stomach rolls. “Kevin Woodward,” Dr. Knight says. “They found his wallet with him this time. Forty-four, out to drinks with his wife and some work friends. He stepped outside to take a call and didn’t come back. His friend found him in the alley behind a dumpster. Same thing as our last victim. No blood. Bite marks on the back of his neck. You want to see them?”

“I trust.”

“The good news, if you want to call it that, is that it wasn’t raining this time. There’s more of a chance I’ll find something that’ll tie itself to the killer.”

“Still waiting for first DNA test to come back.”

“You’re not the only detective in the city. Everyone’s waiting on something. These things take time. You’ll have to be patient.”

“While I’m patient more people die.”

Dr. Knight shrugs but she looks sympathetic. “It sucks, but that’s the way it is. I sent his clothes over to the lab to be analyzed. It looked like there was some kind of stain on the back of his jacket — they’ll figure out exactly what it is. We’ll go over everything twice with a fine-tooth comb. We’ll get you something.”

Geno grumbles out a half-hearted “thanks” and digs his car keys out of his pocket. “Call me when you finished.”

“Of course, Detective,” Knight calls as the doors swing shut behind him.

 

-

 

He heads to the station instead of going home and drops his keys and coat off at his desk before he heads up to the bunk room and lies down on the cot closest to the door.

From there he can hear the idle chatter of the overnight officers flowing through the building. It’s comforting. It doesn’t make him feel so alone.

He wakes up only a few hours later to Fleury shaking his shoulder.

“Sorry to wake you,” he says, sounding anything but as he sits down by Geno’s hip. “But Kris is in with Kevin’s wife now. She’s a mess.”

“Married,” Geno says groggily as he pushes himself up onto his elbows. “Different from Alyssa.”

“Married, kids, steady job, nice house in Capitol Hill, the works. If it’s the same guy as before, he doesn't have a type. Wife said Kevin never had any enemies. He was a sweet guy.” Fleury shows him a photo from their wedding day. Kevin is 20 years younger and 20 pounds lighter but he looks so happy standing there with his new bride. He didn’t deserve the fate he received and neither did Alyssa.

“You worry?” Geno asks and Fleury nods.

Neither of them want to say it out loud, but _serial killer_ runs through both their minds.

“I don’t want it to get out of control,” Fleury says. “I don’t want people to be afraid.”

“We find,” Geno says as he pats Fleury heavily on the shoulder. “Somehow.”

 

-

 

The _somehow_ begins to reveal itself two days later.

The stain on the back of the victim’s coat was motor oil, a synthetic blend that wasn’t found anywhere else at the crime scene. After talking to the widow, they confirm that the oil in the family car was changed a month and a half ago at the dealership and there’s no reason for the oil to be there.

The lab also finds fibers on his body — a few threads of a navy blue cotton that’s been treated with a fire-resistant chemical.

“My guess is that it came from coveralls,” the technicians says. “Something an electrician or a utility line worker would wear.”

“Or a mechanic,” Geno asks, thinking of the oil. The technician nods. “That’s good,” Geno says. That’s a start.

“That’s not all,” the technician says. She bounces on the toes of her worn-in sneakers. “We found a hair.”

 

-

 

“Have a match!” Geno yells as he flies into the bullpen. Fleury and Letang both look up from their computers as he throws a file at each of them. “Alek Kaminski. Twenty-four. Works at Emerald Auto shop in Beacon Hill. Has priors, stupid stuff. Petty theft, vandalism, public intoxication. Should be more than enough to bring in for questioning.”

Letang and Fleury share a heavy look before Letang sighs.

“This is a dead end.”

“What? Why? Have evidence. Know we don’t have murder weapon yet but DNA and oil … can at least question.”

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about Kaminski himself. Where he works.”

“A garage. Fits with the oil.”

“It’s not a garage,” Fleury says. “Or at least that’s not all it is. It’s a front.”

“Front for what?”

“You name it,” Letang says. “Illegal importing, exporting, money laundering, counterfeiting. They do whatever they want.”

“Why does no one stop them?”

“We do try,” Letang says defensively. “We’ve been trying for years, but no matter what we do they find a way out of it. There’s never enough evidence or the evidence that we do have is deemed inconclusive. We can’t ever actually tie them to anything. They always find away to get out of it.”

Geno flicks the paper with the test results on it with his fingers. “Can’t get out of this. We got them.”

“We’ll see,” Letang says. “They always find a loophole.”

 

-

 

Emerald Auto Shop sits on the main drag in a particularly rough section of Beacon Hill and the building fits in with its surroundings. The tin roof is rusting and a mural of the Seattle skyline on the outer wall is faded. You would have to be desperate to bring your car here, which is probably the point. They’re not even trying to make it look like a reputable business.

The inside is only slightly nicer than the outside. There’s a sitting area with a beat-up couch and a few metal folding chairs. A television playing the morning news and an old coffee pot in the corner next to paper cups, powdered creamer and packets of sugar.

There’s no one behind the desk but through the glass window that opens up into the garage Geno can see a cluster of five employees standing around, talking and drinking coffee. They’re all wearing navy blue coveralls, but none of the men matches Kaminski’s mugshot.

Geno taps on the glass to get their attention and when that doesn't work he slaps his badge against it.

“Here to see Alek Kaminski,” Geno says, slowly and clearly through the glass. “Seattle PD,” he adds and makes a beckoning motion with his hand.

The men exchange a look before four of them disappear out of sight into the back room and one makes his way through the empty garage to the lobby.

The man — boy, really, given how young he looks — has hair so blond it’s almost white and bright green eyes that pop against his pale skin. He’s both striking and unsettling to look at.

When Geno first saw Sid in the bar, he thought, _no one should look like that._ The shape of his face and the color of his eyes and the quiet confidence with which he holds himself.

Looking at this kid, Geno feels the same way — minus the fondness for Sid that has worked itself deep into Geno’s chest without his permission.

“Can I help you with something,” Seth, according to the name tag pinned to his coveralls, asks. He sounds just like every other bored teenager Geno has ever come across and the spell is broken.

“Am Detective Malkin. Looking for Alek Kaminski. He work here?”

“He’s busy.”

Geno looks out over the empty garage and then back at Seth. Seth shrugs his shoulders and Geno sighs. “Can wait.”

“He’s going to be busy all day.”

“Don’t have anything else to do,” Geno says as he puts his badge back into his jacket pocket and pulls out his phone. “You have Wi-Fi?”

“No.”

“Is fine,” Geno says, unbothered. “Have good data.”

Geno makes himself at home on the worn-out sofa and picks up where he left off in Fortnite.

Geno waits and waits and waits. The garage remains empty and Kaminski stays hidden as Geno stretches out on the couch and flips through old People magazines and sips on burnt coffee.

Three hours pass but Geno is not ready to give up. He’ll stay here all night if that’s what it takes. He’ll break into the back room and force Kaminski to talk before he leaves.

Geno makes a show of yawning and stretching as he wiggles a bit in on the couch, getting as comfortable as he can. He wants to show Seth he’s in this for the long haul.

Seth huffs and rolls his eyes before he takes off toward the back room and Geno grins in victory.

It won’t be long now.

Five minutes pass and then ten, and just when Geno’s starting to feel like he’s fallen into a trap of his own making, the door swings open and Seth stomps back out.

“You can head back,” he says with a tip of his head. “He can see you now.”

“So soon,” Geno asks as he stands and checks his watch. “Had more emails to check.”

Seth gives him a cold look and Geno smiles back at him.

“Thank you for cooperation,” Geno says before he follows Seth to the back.

Stepping through the door that leads away from the lobby is like stepping into another building.

The lighting is better, the floors are clean and shiny and the paint on the walls looks brand new. Seth opens the door to an office and makes a sweeping motion with his arm. As soon as Geno steps through Seth shuts it firmly behind him. For the first time, Geno thinks that maybe he should have brought along some backup.

The walls are painted a deep wine color and the only light in the room is coming from two brass lamps that are affixed to the wall.

Sitting behind a large mahogany desk is a man with graying hair and a graying beard and sharp blue eyes. Two more men stand on either side, both broad-shouldered and tall. All three of them are in well-tailored suits with dark red ties.

Kaminski is sitting in one of the plush armchairs on the opposite side of the desk. He’s the only one wearing coveralls and even in the dim light of the office Geno can tell that he looks different from his mugshot. He looks better. Handsome. All of the men in the room are handsome in the same odd way that Seth is. The same way that Sid is. They all look fake, like they’re sculptures made of marble instead of being actual people. He knows first-hand that Sid’s skin is cool enough to the touch to be made of stone.

They all stare at him and Geno’s hands brush against his hips beneath his jacket, purposefully touching the gun that he keeps in his holster.

He hopes he won’t need it, mainly because he gets the feeling that it won’t do much good. He’s outnumbered and outsized, the latter of which doesn't happen often.

“Detective Malkin,” the man behind the desk says. “Can call me Ilya.” He has a heavy Eastern European accent, Polish most likely, and he gestures at the open chair beside Kaminski. “Sit, please. We need to talk.”

“I need to talk,” Geno says and tips his head at Kaminski. “He need to talk. No one else needs to be here.”

He’s pushing it, he knows, but the Ilya simply smiles and says, “I think we have a misunderstanding that we need to sort out before you waste anymore time or resources on it. I understand how precious both can be.” He gestures toward Kaminski. “You think my employee is involved in something and I can assure that he’s not.”

“How can you do that?”

Ilya leans back in his chair, folds his arms over his chest and studies Geno carefully.

“You look like a man with good taste. You could do better than that suit you’re wearing and we both know it. I know some of the best tailors in the city. It would be no problem for me to get you fitted in something truly special.”

“You trying to buy me off with expensive suit?”

“You need more?” he asks and Geno laughs at the boldness of him.

“You like fast cars? Looking for a new apartment? Maybe jewelry for someone special. Perhaps your father would like a new watch. Maybe your mother some new earrings. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds? What is her favorite?” Ilya asks and Geno tips his chin up in defiance. He refuses to be bought. In turn, Ilya’s smile turns vicious. “It’s Vladimir and Natalia, yes? Both retired. He worked in steel mills, didn’t he? Hard life, could use something nice now. Would be no problem to ship back to Magnitogorsk for you. You have a brother, don’t you? Happily married. Remind me how old the children are, again?”

“Enough,” Geno snaps and looks down at the wood grain running along the table. He knows Ilya is still smiling at him, lips curled up over perfectly straight, white teeth. He takes a deep breath to steady himself and looks up. “So what will it be, Detective? What can I do for you?” Geno stares him down then turns to Kaminski. “You can tell me where you were October seventeenth between midnight and one, and November third between nine and nine thirty at night.”

Kaminski laughs and Ilya clicks his tongue again. “You’re making a mistake, Detective.”

“Just want to ask some questions. Want some answers.”

“You’ll have to talk to my lawyer, then,” Kaminski says and Geno sighs.

“Who is that?”

Kaminski’s smile spreads slowly across his face and Geno feels a familiar shiver run up his spine.

 

-

 

A quick call to Sid’s assistant lets Geno know he’s in a hearing at the courthouse at Fifth and James.

Geno lingers in the hallway with his hands dug deep in his pockets and his mind reeling.

Sid’s involved with this. He’s involved with the whole organization. He knows exactly what Ilya and Kaminski are doing and he won’t do anything to stop it.

He sat there and listened to Geno pour his heart out over Alyssa, all the while knowing who killed her.

Letang told him that it made sense. _“There’s your loophole,”_ he said when Geno called him. _“They’re gonna use Crosby as their last line of defense and make sure this asshole walks.”_

There’s shuffling behind the closed courtroom doors and Geno stops pacing as they open and people begin to file out.

He can see Sid talking to a man in an orange jumpsuit with cuffs on his wrists, flanked by two police officers.

Sid nods his head and puts his hand on the man's shoulder, a gesture of reassurance before he’s led away and Sid turns to pack his paperwork back into his briefcase. When he looks up, Geno is the first person he sees.

Sid pauses, hand poised over the fastener on his briefcase, before he shakes his head, clicks it shut and lifts it off the table.

“Detective Malkin,” Sid says with a nod as he brushes past Geno. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Have some questions for you,” Geno says as he falls into step beside him. Geno’s legs are longer but Sid seems determined to outmaneuver him.

“You’re going to have to be quick. I’m running late for my next appointment.”

“Talk to your assistant. He said you don’t have meeting until two this afternoon.” Geno double checks his watch. “Only eleven forty-five now.”

Sid doesn’t skip a beat. “Lunch then. I’m late for lunch.”

“Maybe I join you. Know good burger place not far from here.”

“I prefer to eat lunch alone, thank you, though. Is that all?”

“Want to ask you about Alek Kaminski.”

“I don’t know anything about him.”

“He knows you. Said you’re his lawyer.”

“Well, he’s mistaken,” Sid says as he steps into the opening of the revolving door.

Geno has to stop and wait for the next opening before he pushes his way through. The rain is coming down in buckets and people hurry by him on the sidewalk with their hoods up or holding their bags over their heads. By the time he reaches Sid, Geno is soaked through but he doesn’t care. He wants answers.

“So you not his lawyer,” Geno shouts over the traffic and the sound of the rain pounding the pavement. “Why would he lie?”

“Wishful thinking, maybe. I’m not defending him. I don’t want anything to do with him and neither should you.”

Geno pushes his wet hair back from his forehead. “What does that mean?” “It means that you should leave this alone, Detective. Just leave it.” A cab pulls up to the curb and Sid opens the door. “It’s for your own good.”

Geno groans. “So sick of people threatening me.”

Sid whips around and grabs hold of Geno’s wrist tightly enough that it immediately begins to ache.

“Who threatened you?”

“Sid, hurts,” he says as he tries to pull away.

“Who threatened you?” Sid asks again, his gaze suddenly intense and his eyes flashing. He applies enough pressure to Geno’s wrist to make him talk.

“Ilya, from garage. Owner I guess. He knew things about me. He knew my family. Probably a bluff but —.”

Sid pulls his hand back and rakes his fingers through his hair. It sticks up on one side, the only time Geno has ever seen him looking anything less than immaculate. _And you’ve seen him in bed_ , Geno thinks, swallowing down a bubble of hysterical laughter in favor of rubbing at his throbbing wrist.

“Sid —.”

“I have to go,” Sid says as slides into the cab. “Don’t go back there. Don’t get in touch with Kaminski. Promise me.”

“Have to do my job.”

Sid shakes his head and, before he pulls the door shut, says, “Your life is more important than you job, Detective.”

The cab pulls away and Geno stands there in the rain, rubbing at his wrist until the cab disappears around the corner.

 

-

 

Geno never promised Sid a thing. 

He doesn’t owe him a thing.

That’s why Geno doesn’t feel any guilt when he parks his car in the shadows of a gas station across the street from Emerald Auto.

He doesn’t consider Kaminski a flight risk. Neither he nor Ilya seem to be the type of man to run away from a fight, but if Kaminski has killed two people, Geno doesn’t doubt he’s capable of killing a third. So while he waits for a willing judge to sign an arrest warrant, he’ll have to keep an eye on Kaminski himself.

The garage closes in a half-hour and, after that, at a safe distance, he’ll follow Kaminski home.

So far it’s been quiet with no one coming or going and Geno’s just beginning to get restless. His tea is beginning to go cold in its thermos, his legs are too long and the car is too cramped, but he doesn’t want to risk getting out and walking around for fear of missing something. Or being seen.

He pushes the seat back as far as it’ll go and arches his back as he tries to work out some of the tension. He sighs as he feels his back pop and takes another sip of his lukewarm tea. It’s better than nothing.

There’s another ten minutes of quiet before a car pulls into the parking lot across the street and Geno sits up in interest.

The inside of the car windows are foggy with condensation and he wipes at the glass with his hand so he can see out.

The garage’s parking lot isn’t terribly well lit but Geno can see enough.

The car’s headlights flash once as Sid hits the lock button on his key fob. He’s wearing a different suit from the one that Geno saw him in at midday and his hair is slicked back.

“What are you doing?” Geno asks quietly as Sid opens the door to the garage and steps inside.

Sid told him not even twelve hours ago that he wasn’t defending Kaminski, that he wanted nothing to do with him. Now he’s showing up at his place of work.

Geno’s tired of red tape and dreary weather and being lied to, but most of all he’s tired of a man who was only supposed to be a one-night stand suddenly infiltrating every part of his life. Mostly, he’s tired of how much he wants him there. In his bed when he falls asleep at night and there when he wakes up in the morning. He wants Sid’s hands all over him and he wants his mouth to follow. Sid’s haunting him in the best and worst ways and he’s exhausted by it.

The minutes tick by — ten, fifteen, twenty — until finally, after thirty-five minutes, Sid comes out. Without thinking Geno puts his hand on the car door, ready to open it, when Sid stops walking halfway between the building and his own car and looks across the street.

Geno is parked in an unmarked car in the darkest part of the lot, well out of the way of the glow of the lights above the gas pumps.

There’s no way Sid can know that it’s him, but Geno freezes, hand on the door handle and not breathing, as if the shallow rise and fall of his chest as his lungs take in air will be what gives away his hiding place. The longer Sid looks, the more uneasy Geno feels. The tension lingers a loud heart beat longer — and then suddenly evaporates into nothing as Sid unlocks his car, headlights flashing again, and takes the few steps needed to get in.

He doesn’t wait for the car to warm up before he pulls out of the parking lot quickly enough that his tires squeal on the wet pavement.

Anger swells up inside Geno, but it quickly fizzles out into disappointment. Sid has his faults. He can be cold, in more ways than one, and calculating and it seems like he thinks that the only right way is his way. But Geno never doubted that he was a good person underneath it all. Now he’s not sure what to think. Kaminski is a murderer. Ilya tried to bribe him to cover it up and then threatened him when he didn’t take the bribe, and who knows what Ilya’s two goons have done.

These are not good people, nor are they the type of people with whom _good_ people would want to associate themselves.

Geno slouches down in the seat and takes another sip of tea. It’s all the way to cold now but he pops off the lid so he can tip the last drops into his mouth anyway then tosses both the lid and thermos onto the passenger seat.

He folds his arms over his chest and hunches his shoulders. The temperature has begun to drop and even though there’s a fleece blanket in the back seat he doesn’t reach for it.

Instead he yawns wide enough that his jaw cracks and his ears pop and he blinks rapidly in an attempt to keep his eyes open.

 _Maybe the cold will help me stay awake,_ is the last thing he thinks before his eyes slide shut.

 

The bar is empty when Geno walks in. It’s dark and silent and he looks at the booth in the corner, their booth. He’s certain he only blinked, but suddenly Sid is there. Sid’s arm is stretched out along the back of the booth, inviting, and there’s a glass of warm brown liquor on the table in front of him, untouched.

Sid’s gaze and smile are sharp as he looks Geno over, and Geno is cemented in place until Sid says, “about time, Detective,” and Geno feels himself being pulled toward him.

Geno climbs into the booth, desperate to lay hands on Sid. He wants — so much — that he’s not even sure how they got from the bar to this new, dimly lit place. It’s nowhere Geno recognizes, nowhere he’s been before, but there’s a bed and Sid is kneeling over him, body heavy — strong — and smooth like marble. Geno runs his hands up and down Sid’s sides and Sid kisses him like it’s the only thing he knows how to do, like he’s spent his entire life knowing how to make Geno gasp and moan, how to make his body arch and his mind go blank.

Geno’s missed this. He’s been longing for this. He has no idea how he’s gone without it.

Sid drops more weight onto him and presses their hips flush and Geno pulls his mouth away from Sid’s to take a deep, shuddering breath as Sid brushes a smile-laced kiss to the corner of his lips.

“Sid,” Geno gasps and he feels Sid’s smile grow wider.

“I know,” Sid whispers as he presses a line of kisses down the length of Geno’s neck. “I know what you want. I always know.”

Geno’s eyes roll back in pleasure as Sid’s mouth lingers on the gentle slope where his neck meet his shoulder.

Geno’s toes curl into the silk sheets beneath him and his fingers scramble for purchase against Sid’s back above him.

Sid grazes Geno’s skin with his teeth, just a teasing nip at first, and then harder and harder until pleasure dissolves into pain and Geno’s body tenses and jerks.

“Sid,” he pants out, fingernails trying their hardest to dig into Sid’s skin. “Sid, stop.”

Sid immediately leans back, mouth slick and red with blood. Geno gapes up at him as Sid’s tongue darts out to lick his lips clean.

“You have something,” Sid says, voice deep and husky, and Geno’s terrified but he still wants him. Sid points to his own neck and Geno slaps his hand to his throat. When he pulls his hand away his palm is covered in blood, warm and dripping down his wrist.

“Let me help you,” Sid says and Geno tears his eyes away from his hand to look up. Sid’s holding out a cloth napkin, so white and clean it almost glows against the shadows. “Detective,” Sid says, eyebrows raised. “Zhenya.”

Geno reaches out, and just as his shaking fingers are about to touch the fabric, a car horn blares from somewhere outside the bedroom and it jolts him awake.

He’s alone in his car, slouched over in the front seat with a crick in his neck. The windshield is frosted over but he can just make out the blurry outline of a car blowing through a red light and narrowly missing an oncoming truck whose driver is still laying on the horn.

Traffic starts to move again and Geno begins to replay the dream in his mind.

His hand flies up to his throat and he shoves it beneath the layers of his jacket and dress shirt. His heart is pounding in his chest as he finally meets skin and when he pulls his hand away it’s clean, not a drop of blood to be found. He presses his hand there again, and then once more, just to be sure, but each time it’s the same result.

_It was only a dream._

He tips his head back against the seat and takes a deep breath.

“Fuck,” he says to himself. It was so real. He could feel Sid’s weight and the heat of his own blood. Even now he feels like he can still smell the scent of Sid’s cologne, earthy and bold, wafting around him.

He opens the door and climbs out in an attempt to clear his mind and stretch his legs, which are well on their way to cramping. He takes a breath of chilly morning air, so deep that his lungs being to ache with it, and looks across the street at Emerald Auto. The lights are off and the parking lot is empty.

Best-case scenario is that Kaminski simply went home last night. The worst is that he went anywhere else. Either way, Geno fell asleep and missed it.

He slams his hand against the roof of the car in frustration then climbs back inside and makes his way back to the station.

 

-

 

“We’ve got guys checking the bus and ferry terminals,” Fleury says as he hangs up the phone. “So far nothing out of Sea-Tac, but if he’s been there we’ll find out about it. The guy can’t just disappear.”

Letang worked a miracle late last night and found a judge willing to sign an arrest warrant based on the evidence in their possession but when they swung by Kaminski’s house to pick him up he was gone.

“If he’s bought a ticket to anywhere, he did it with cash. His credit card hasn’t been used for over a week,” Letang adds.

Geno rubs his hand over his face, the almost-healed road rash in his palm catching on the coarse hair covering his jaw and cheeks. “Can’t believe I fell asleep. Can’t believe I let him get away.”

“You didn’t let him do anything, Christ, look at you,” Letang says as he points a finger his way. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Last night,” Geno says flatly and Letang shakes his head.

 _“Really slept?_ A full, good night’s rest. Fuck, when was the last time you showered or shaved?”

“Been a little bit,” Geno admits. He knows he caught a few hours the night that Woodward was killed but between then and now …

“You’re running yourself ragged over this. You need to rest.”

“Go take a shower,” Fleury suggests. “Then take a nap. There’s nothing to do until we find this guy. We’ve got the whole city looking.”

“Anything on Ilya or anyone else who work there? Anyone we can question who might know where he is?”

“No. It’s like the whole building has been abandoned. They even took the hard drives out of the computers.”

“While I slept across the street. Not making me feel better.”

“We’re looking,” Fleury says. “We’ll find them and you can help once you get some sleep. I’ll carry you into the showers if I have to.”

“Can’t lift me,” Geno says as he stands and claps Fleury on the shoulder as he walks by.

“I’m stronger than I look,” Fleury calls after him, and Geno smiles as he rubs at his eyes with his knuckles.

He takes a quick shower. He knows from experience that the water will never warm to his preferred temperature and he doesn’t see the point in standing beneath the spray if he’s just going to be uncomfortable.

He washes the shampoo from his hair and the soap from his body and wraps a towel around his waist before he steps out of the shower stall and in front of the mirror. The water never got hot enough to fog the mirror so his reflection is clear — and alarming.

His skin looks pale and thin, stretched across his cheekbones in a way that the patchy beard that’s grown in is doing little to hide. The only color comes from the blackish purple shadows beneath his eyes and his red lips, dry and cracked from how chapped they are. He looks tired and strung out on stress and worry, and his mother would be horrified at how thin he’s become. He understands why Letang and Fleury were so adamant that he catches some sleep. He looks awful.

He shakes his head and lathers up a glob of shaving cream in his hands before patting it onto his face. In a way, it’s a good thing he had that dream last night, since he doubts real-life Sid will ever take an interest in him again as long as he looks like this.

He drags the razor over his skin, making one long, smooth pass before he pauses.

Sid was at the garage last night. It’s possible he was the last person to see Kaminski before he disappeared. Sid could have been the one who told him to go.

Geno should tell someone so Sid can be brought in for questioning. If he knows anything at all they should be able to pull it out of him in the interrogation room.

It should be official and by the books and it’s not something Geno should do alone.

He knows all of this but, as he rushes through an uneven and shoddy job of shaving and then hastily pulls on the spare suit he keeps in his locker, he knows he doesn’t care.

 

-

 

The firm for which Sid works is in a tall, brick building in Pioneer Square, only a block away from the Metro.

Geno flashes his badge at the security guard posted in the lobby, who directs him to the elevators and gives him the correct floor.

He rides up five floors by himself and when the doors open steps out into a brightly lit lobby with potted plants book ending the reception desk. The woman sitting behind it asks him to please wait while she finds out if Sid is available for guests. Geno shakes his head and shows her his badge.

“He available,” he says then asks, “Which way?” before heading off in the direction she’s pointing.

Sid’s office is at the end of a long hall past several rows of cubicles where paralegals and interns and assistants tap away at their keyboards. Sid’s office is plainer than Geno expected it to be. Cream-colored walls and dark wood cabinets. No windows, no view, no artwork, no personal touches. Overall the office is bland and boring and it doesn’t seem like it’s enough for a lawyer with Sid’s success rate. He should have more.

“Detective Malkin.” Sid still has his head down, pen skating across the paper in front of him as he signs his name. “Was I expecting you?”

Geno clears his throat and smooths down his tie. Beneath his jacket his dress shirt is wrinkled from falling off the hanger and ending up in a ball at the bottom of his locker one too many times, and he feels woefully inadequate compared to Sid, who’s in a pristine navy blue suit.

Sid looks expensive and unbothered. Untouchable. Sid puts the pen down and looks up. _Beautiful._

“Detective?”

Geno shakes off his nerves and steps farther into the office. There are two leather-backed chairs in front of Sid’s desk but he doesn’t sit down.

“Nice office,” he says as a way to break the ice. “Thought maybe you’d have corner one since you’re so good. Tall windows. View of water.”

“I really haven’t been here long enough to earn that.”

“Maybe someday then.”

Sid shrugs. “I’m not too worried about it,” he says then narrows his eyes at Geno and reaches blindly into his breast pocket. He pulls out a white handkerchief, just like the one in Geno’s dream, and holds it over the desk for Geno to take.

Geno doesn’t move, frozen in place with the strongest sense of deja vu he’s ever had coupled with that all too familiar feeling of something being off — wrong — that he just can’t nail down.

“You have some …” Sid shakes the cloth at him and gestures with the index finger of his other hand to the left side of his jaw. “I think maybe you nicked yourself shaving.”

Geno quickly presses his whole hand to his jaw, fully expecting his hand to be drenched with blood when he pulls it away. He feels lightheaded and weak even though his hand is clean when he looks at it.

“It’s not much,” Sid says as he shakes the handkerchief again. “Here, take it.”

Geno reaches out and, unlike in his dream, he’s actually able to grab it this time. It’s soft between his fingers and against his skin as he holds it to his jaw.

When he pulls it away there’s a single drop of blood, bright red against the white. He dabs at it again and it comes away clean.

“I’m sorry,” Sid says, picking up the conversation like nothing happened. “Do you need something? I have a hard time believing you came all the way down here to look at my office.”

Geno takes a deep breath and tries to shake off his uneasiness. He jams his hand, handkerchief and all, into his pocket and rocks forward on his toes.

“Is good thing, too,” Geno says. His voice is a lilting mess and he clears his throat. “No windows, not worth the trip.”

Sid doesn’t even crack a smile, so Geno takes a deep breath before he says, “want to know what happened with you and Kaminski.”

“I thought we already had this conversation.”

“We did, but you lie. Why were you at his garage last night?”

“What?”

“I watch him. Watch him at work, see you go into garage and now he’s missing.”

“I was having car trouble. It was a coincidence,” Sid says and Geno almost laughs. The world just seems to be full of those lately.

“So late? Why you in that part of town?”

“Why were you? I asked you stay away from them.”

“Don’t take my orders from you, Sid. You going to answer question or do you want to come down to station?”

“I told you I was having car trouble. I don’t pick and choose when my check-engine light goes on.”

“They never work on it. Car stayed in parking lot.”

“Turns out I don’t really have to worry unless it’s red. I was going to come back at a better time.”

“You have answers for everything,” Geno says and something flashes in Sid’s eyes. Anger or annoyance. It’s satisfying. “That why you talk to me in bar? Try to find out what I know then run and tell him. You warn him and now he’s gone?”

“I wouldn’t do that. I talked to you because I wanted to talk to you. It had nothing to do with him.”

“Don’t understand if you so close to him—.”

“I am not close to him.”

“— why you don’t defend him. You always win. Get him off like you get all your murderers off.”

Sid grits his teeth. “Listen, Detective, I have a lot of work to do.”

“Can call me Geno,” he says. “Don’t have to be formal when we already fuck.”

Sid opens his mouth then closes it as his eyes drift just beyond Geno’s left shoulder.

There’s a tall, blond man with a stocky build, standing in the open doorway and holding an armful of folders against his chest.

“Thank you, Nate,” Sid says with a tight smile as he gathers up a stack of files from his desk. “I’ll trade you,” he says as he holds them out.

Nate tip-toes into the office, careful to avoid their sight line. He arranges his folders into a neat pile on the corner of Sid’s desk then takes the ones Sid is holding out to him and hurries away.

“Should have shut door,” Geno says in soft apology and Sid waves a dismissive hand.

“I should have told you to shut the door. Nate’s a good kid but a bit of a gossip. By the time you leave here, everyone on the floor — maybe the one above us, as well — will know we’ve slept together.”

“Not sleep, you leave right away,” Geno says.

Sid frowns at him and Geno continues on.

“Was it bad?” he asks. He’s horrified that the words have left his mouth and even more horrified that he can’t seem to stop more from coming. “That why you left?” He shakes his head and reins himself in. This whole conversation — _day, week, month_ — has been one long nightmare. “Forget,” he says. “Please. Forget I said.”

Sid nods as a heavy layer of awkwardness wraps itself around them.

“Detective,” Sid begins slowly and Geno doesn’t even bother to hide the way he rolls his eyes. “Alek Kaminski is guilty. That’s why I won’t defend him.”

“You only defend innocent people,” Geno says with a hint of sarcasm. “I know.”

Sid gives him a long look, like he doesn’t appreciate being interrupted or mocked.

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” Sid finally says. His voice is cold and serious and any semblance of a smile slips from his face. “These people, Ilya, Alek, everyone that works at that garage … they’re not … they don’t follow your rules. I can’t explain.”

“Try.”

“It’s not something that you need to know. It’s for your own good.”

“Tired of people telling me what my own good is, Sid. I know what’s good for me.”

“You really don’t.”

“Is good that I do my job. Find out who murdered Alyssa and Kevin. Is good that I do that. Think about his widow and his kids. You think I can look at them and say I give up but I can’t say why. They don’t need to know. How can I do that? Alyssa died all alone. He took whole future from her.”

“I know it’s not easy for you to understand —.”

“You make impossible,” Geno says.

“I know we’re not friends, Detective,” Sid says calmly, and Geno rolls his eyes again. “But I’m asking you to trust me. I care about you. I’m trying to keep you safe.” He looks sincere, face wide open and eyes pleading and — true to form when it comes to all things Sid — Geno doesn’t know what to think.

“I find out you’re involved,” Geno says, “won’t be good.”

Sid presses his lips into a thin line. When he parts them they’re a deep red against his winter pale face, like the drop of blood on the handkerchief that’s in his pocket.

“I understand,” Sid says and Geno nods a goodbye before he turns toward the door. “Detective.”

When he turns back around, Sid is standing up with his hands flat against the surface of the desk.

“It wasn’t bad,” Sid says. “It was amazing.”

Geno feels his face heat and he’s sure his cheeks are stained red by the compliment.

“Might have more questions for you,” he says and Sid nods.

“You know where to find me.”

 

-

 

Alek Kaminski has been missing for almost twenty-four hours and with every hour that passes it seems more and more likely that he won’t be found.

They have his picture on the news and hotlines set up. They’re still patrolling airports and bus stations and along the waterfront but so far they don’t have a single lead. It’s like he vanished without a trace.

Geno digs around in his desk drawer for a bottle of aspirin and empties three pills into his hand. He dry-swallows and coughs into his fist as they go down funny.

It’s a miserable fight trying to find something that’s not there. He has nothing to go on. Kaminski was in and out of foster care as a child, never finding a permanent home. He aged out when he was eighteen and he’s been on his own ever since. He has no family, no friends or connections outside of the city that Geno can find. He could be anywhere.

Geno rubs at his temple with one hand and taps his fingers against the keyboard with the other as he stares at Alek’s nearly empty Facebook profile. He stops, then drags the cursor up to the search box at the top and types in Sid’s name.

A handful of results pop up. A man from Chicago and another from Boise and another from Alberta. None of them is his Sidney.

He goes to Google next and the only thing he finds has to do with the law firm Sid works at. He clicks the first link and comes face to face with Sid’s headshot at the top of the page. He looks good, a little awkward with his forced smile, but reassuring all the same. There’s a little blurb off to the side saying that he practices criminal law and he’s been with the firm for three years. His phone and fax numbers are listed along with his email. Beneath that it says he graduated in 2012 from the University of Pittsburgh School of Law.

Geno falls down the rabbit hole after that.

He goes looking for alumni pages and articles from the school newspaper, anything that mentions Sid’s name. He jots down telephone number after telephone number, in case he needs them, making note of the time difference between Seattle and Pittsburgh in case he decides to call in the morning.

He finds only one mention of Sid. It’s in an article about intramural sports teams within the college. Basketball, soccer, baseball and, finally, hockey. The article is accompanied by a photo of each team and there, in the online archives of the school newspaper, is Sid, dressed in hockey gear and smiling. The photo was taken in 2009, nearly ten years ago now, but he looks exactly the same, right down to the way his hair curls softly over his forehead.

Geno right-clicks and prints, then clicks away from it, not wanting to get hung up staring at the photo, and tries to recall any bit of personal information Sid let slip when they first met.

He remembers catching Sid’s eye and the first introductions. He recognized Sid’s name and then poked fun at his accent as he sipped his drink and looked at him through his lashes.

“It’s Canadian,” Sid said as he grabbed Geno’s hand. He held it flat and lightly traced his finger from the base of Geno’s thumb all the way to tip of his middle finger. “Nova Scotia.”

“Far,” Geno said in reply. “You miss?” Sid had gotten a faraway look in his eye, painful and sad, and Geno remembers moving closer to him. “All the time.”

It’s hazy after that, the alcohol and the lust in his system taking over. He doesn’t remember much of anything until Sid closed the apartment door behind them and pushed him up against the wall. After that, Geno remembers _everything_.

But he doesn’t have a hometown. He doesn’t think Sid ever actually gave him one but he pulls up a map of Nova Scotia and zooms in, trying to see if anything stands out.

Nova Scotia is a small province, comparatively, but as he clicks around Google Maps he realizes he still doesn’t have a clue. Nothing is familiar.

He leans back in his chair and sticks his hands into his pockets, frowning when his right hand bumps into something; the handkerchief that Sid offered him — that he then stole.

The blood has dried and set into the fabric, now a rusty brown color. It’s only a small drop but he’ll have to have it cleaned before he brings it back.

He unfolds the cloth, hoping to find a tag that will tell him how to wash it, but the only thing he finds is a small embroidered emblem on the right-hand corner.

It’s a bright blue rectangle with a golden X cutting across it. There are golden ships and some kind of bird in the middle, standing out against the gold in the same blue as the background.

It’s a flag, he realizes and immediately types _Nova Scotia flags_ into Google.

The same image of a different flag takes over the first page, a blue X on a white background, but he keeps scrolling and finally finds a match.

_Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada._

That’s a start.

There are twelve high schools and six junior high schools in Halifax and Geno works his way through each one, Googling the school plus Sid’s name. When he comes up empty he turns to the local newspapers.

He figures Sid graduated from high school in 2005 but he gives himself a two-year cushion either way and settles in on trying to find a graduation announcement, or his name listed on the honor roll or in an article in the sports section about the school’s hockey team. Anything. He’ll take absolutely anything. Sid’s the kind of guy who’s amazing at everything he does. His name should be in the paper. People should know who he is. But no matter how hard he looks through the online archives, nothing comes up. If Sid attended school in Halifax in the time frame that Geno has worked out, he went completely under the radar.

He goes back even further and starts to look for birth announcements and it’s more of the same. He could call up city hall in Halifax and ask for Sid’s birth certificate, but he doubts he’d get very far. He’s law enforcement, yes, but he’s a Russian calling from Seattle, and that’s bound to raise a few eyebrows. Plus, there’s this nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that’s telling him he wouldn’t find it there anyway. It doesn’t exist, at least, not within the years that it should.

In this line of work, trusting your gut and following your instincts will get you everywhere. Sometimes being intuitive is all it takes a break a case so Geno decides to throw reason out the window and starts piecing together the facts that he’s been trying to ignore.

He thinks about Sid’s pale, cold skin and how he seems not to have aged a day in ten years. How he could spot Geno in a dark parking lot from fifty yards and a single drop of blood no bigger than the head of a pin from across the room. He feels crazy just thinking it but it’s possible Sid couldn’t see him but smelled him instead. He thinks about how Sid always seems to know exactly what he’s thinking and how everyone at that garage looked eerily similar without looking alike at all. They’re not related, but they’re connected. It would make sense if they were all part of the same … coven, pack, clan? The bite marks on the victims and the drained blood. The bites on his own neck the morning after he was with Sid. Sid bit him but didn’t kill him. Maybe Kaminski didn’t have the same restraint. It wasn’t about sex with Kaminski; he was looking to feed, looking to kill. Geno wonders if Sid ever gets like that, if he ever loses control. He thinks about the man who interrupted them at the bar that night. Did he know what Sid is or was he just as blind as Geno had been. Did Sid use him for an easy meal and then walk out? Was Sid ever even attracted to Geno or was he just using him to feed?

The questions keep churning in his mind, completely stealing his focus and he jumps as a cup of coffee is set directly in front of him. When he looks up, Letang is standing beside his desk, frowning down at him.

“Have you been here all night?” Geno blinks and looks out the windows. The sky is a light grey and a check of the time in the corner of his computer shows that it’s quarter after eight.

He’s been up all night on a wild goose chase, trying to prove … what, exactly?

Everything is explainable. Sid said he had poor circulation, and he’s pale because they live in the Pacific Northwest and Geno can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen the sun since he’s moved here. Maybe Sid didn’t actually spot Geno from the the garage parking lot and maybe he just has a sharp eye to spot the blood on his jaw. Maybe the picture of him from college is just a trick of the eye. Maybe Sid didn’t grow up in Halifax after all. Maybe that handkerchief is a souvenir from a long weekend spent in the city. Maybe it was a gift. Maybe. Maybe he’s been looking for Sid’s past in the wrong place and, if he shifted his attention one town over, Geno would find everything he ever wanted to know about Sid. Maybe Sid’s not even from Nova Scotia. The bites on the back of his neck were from some kind of bug and Alyssa and Kevin were the victims of a sick and twisted, but very human, killer.

Vampires aren’t real, _he knows that._ But he also knows that the more he tries to tell himself that, the more he feels like a liar.

“What the fuck have you been working on?” Letang asks as he points a finger at the various scraps of paper on which Geno has been scribbling. Dates and names of schools and hospitals. He even wrote down the names of people who may have been classmates of Sid, just in case he wants to question them. If Geno could get his hands on a yearbook, that would be enough.

“Hey,” Letang snaps his fingers in front of his face. “What the fuck?” Geno snatches the coffee off his desk and takes a big sip, burning his tongue but not caring. At least this way he doesn't have to answer Letang, which is good because he doesn’t have an answer to give him. Letang might have been the one to float the idea of vampires but he was surely joking and Geno is not.

“You have to start taking care of yourself,” Letang says as Geno gulps down another huge sip. “You’re running on caffeine and guilt and that’s a dangerous mix. You can’t live like that.” He tips his head to look at the scribbles again. “Seriously, what is this?” Geno swallows his coffee and, before he has to answer, his phone rings. He dives to answer it.

“Detective Malkin, it’s Dr. Knight.”

“Yes, hello Doctor,” Geno says as he points at the phone and mouths an apology to Letang, who rolls his eyes in return and heads over to his own desk. “Everything okay?”

“Alyssa Savoy is set to be buried today. I thought you might like to know.”

Geno sits up straight and nods, even though Dr. Knight can’t see it. “Yes, yes, wanted to know. Can you tell me which cemetery?” he asks as he hunts for a pen beneath the mess of papers on his desk. “Want to pay my respects.”

“Lake View,” she says, and Geno pauses with the pen in his hand. “The service is supposed to be early this morning.”

“Lake View is private, not normally where city buries people.”

“The city isn’t paying for this one.”

“Then who is?”

 

-

 

Alyssa’s plot is on top of a hill that overlooks Lake Union. This morning there’s a fog hanging low against the tops of the trees that line the cemetery, blocking the view, but Geno can see the sky brightening. It won’t be long before the fog burns off and the sun comes out.

At the top of the hill there is only a priest standing at the side of the casket and two cemetery workers a little way down the hill, waiting for the service to be over so they can finish their job. And Sid.

Sid’s in a black suit with a deep blue tie. There is a pair of sunglasses tucked into his front breast pocket and he’s standing with his back perfectly straight and his hands clasped in front of him.

Sid keeps his head bowed and his eyes on the ground even as Geno steps beside him and the priest begins to speak.

The prayers are background noise to Geno, whose head swims with questions for Sid that he’s too afraid to ask. He wants the truth, desperately, but _god_ , it could wreck him.

Geno stares at Sid’s profile. There’s a fine mist clinging to his hair like spiderwebs and it’s just begun to curl at his temple. He shifts his gaze to the slope of Sid’s nose and his full bottom lip and the way his eyelashes fan out atop his sharp cheekbones.

 _I’m not afraid of you,_ Geno thinks. _But should I be?_

“May God grant us grace,” the priest says and Sid tips his head to look up at Geno. His face is perfectly blank, like he heard the question but he doesn’t know the answer, and Geno’s heart stutters in his chest. “That in pain we may find comfort,” the priest continues, “in sorrow hope, in death resurrection.”

Sid looks back at the ground and Geno works to get his heart back to normal.

The service is brief and to the point and when the priest has finished and tucked his Bible beneath his arm Geno gets himself together enough to shake his hand and thank him.

Sid’s halfway down the hill to his car by the time Geno is done. It’s the same sleek sedan he saw Sid in at the garage but, in the light of day, Geno can see that the windows are tinted so dark they’re borderline illegal.

Sid doesn’t slow down when Geno calls his name and he has to jog to catch up. He had dozens of questions for him but his mind races and he can’t seem to narrow it down to just one. He makes a grab for Sid’s elbow just as Sid reaches for the door of his car.

“Why did you do it?” he asks Sid. “Plan the funeral, why?”

“I knew it was important to you,” Sid says simply. “And it was the right thing to do. I have the resources so …”

He trails off and Geno slides his hand from Sid’s elbow to his shoulder to the back of his neck.

Sid’s lips are cool and yielding beneath his own. Sid’s fingers curl into the slippery fabric of Geno’s raincoat and Geno takes a step forward, emboldened, and presses Sid against his car.

It’s been four weeks since they first kissed and Geno has ached for it.

Sid kisses him back until Geno is breathless and his hips start to shift against Sid’s.

It’s wildly inappropriate. They’re in the middle of a cemetery and somewhere behind them there is a priest and a casket is being lowered into the ground, but Sid groans low in the back of his throat and all Geno can think about is kissing him forever.

Finally, Sid slows the kiss down and pulls back. He still has his fingers tangled in Geno’s coat. His eyes are bright but aside from that he looks unaffected. It’s frustrating when Geno feels so undone.

“This isn’t over,” Sid says softly. “Just because she’s buried and Kaminski is —.”

“Where is Kaminski?” Geno interrupts and Sid looks down at their feet. “Sid.”

“He’s gone,” Sid says simply, but Geno can feel an undercurrent of tension. “He’s not coming back.”

“What did you do?”

“It’s not important.”

“What did you do?” Geno asks again. “If something happens … if you don’t tell me everything, I can’t protect you.”

Sid laughs, a tiny breathless thing, and puts his hand on the side of Geno’s face.

“Detective, I’m not the one who needs protecting.”

Above them the cloud cover starts to break. Geno can feel the sun before he sees it and Sid opens the car door.

“Consider taking a vacation, Detective, some place warm and sunny. People aren’t supposed to live like this. All this grey …”

“From Russia. Grew up with grey.”

“Think about it,” Sid says and, when he moves to get into the car, Geno grabs him around the elbow.

“You want me out of town.”

“I want you safe.”

“Can handle myself.”

“I know you think you can, but you have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into. They’ll come for you.”

“Who is they? Ilya?”

“No. He’s gone, too. But there are others. They know how I feel ...” He trails off and his face twists. “They know what you are to me.”

“What am I?”

Sid brings his hand up and presses it over Geno’s heart.

“You’re alive,” Sids says softly. “You’re everything.”

Geno cover’s Sid’s hand with his own and bends down to kiss him again. Rays of sun begin to push through the clouds and Sid tries to pull away but Geno doesn’t let him go.

“Don’t stay out late,” Sid says quickly. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Sid —.”

“Don’t let anyone in your apartment that you don’t know. No plumbers or cable guys or neighbors you haven’t seen before.”

“I tell you, I take care of myself.”

“Geno,” Sid says sharply, and Geno’s mouth snaps shut. “Trust me. Please.” Sid looks up at the sky. The sun is quickly burning through the clouds, dappling the pavement beside them in soft light. “I have to go,” Sid says with a touch of panic in his voice. “You have to let me go.”

Geno closes his fingers around Sid’s wrist hard enough that, if it were anyone else, it would be leaving bruises. It’s going to take force to get him to let go and Geno knows Sid has it in him. He could push him away and shove him to the pavement. Sid could kill him in an instant and not even wrinkle his suit.

Instead, he stands there as the sun parts the clouds, his skin getting warmer and warmer beneath Geno’s grip.

“You’d let this happen,” Geno says in wonder. “You’d let me do this?”

“I won’t hurt you,” Sid says. “If this is what you want —.”

Geno pulls him in and presses a quick kiss to Sid’s forehead before he shoves him toward the car.

“Go,” Geno says. “I’ll be okay.”

Sid opens his mouth but doesn't get a word out before Geno is closing the door and tapping the roof.

Sid pulls away just as the clouds part around the sun and it shines down on Geno, who tips his head back to feel the warmth on his skin.

 

-

 

Geno calls out from work for the rest of the day.

He goes home, draws the curtains on the bright sunshine and falls into bed without even taking off his suit.

He sleeps, dreamlessly, and when he wakes up there’s no light coming in from around the window. He gets up, pulls back the curtain and looks out.

The city comes alive at night, breathing with the rush of headlights and taillights from cars on the streets below and the glitter of office and apartment buildings against the inky skyline.

There’s a pull to be out there. To go against Sid’s wishes and get into some trouble just so Sid would come in and save him, the same way he did that night Geno got drunk and almost got hit by the cab. It had to have been Sid who pulled him to safety. He’s been watching him for weeks, trying to keep him safe. Geno can’t believe he ever thought Sid didn’t care.

He drops the corner of the curtain and strips out of his suit, leaving it in a heap on the floor while he takes a shower, turning the water on as hot as it’ll go.

He stands beneath the spray until his skin is red and splotchy from the heat then climbs back into bed and sleeps until morning.

When he wakes, he again calls out from work and isn’t surprised at all when his boss doesn’t put up a fight over it.

“Why don’t you take the next few days off?” Captain Sullivan suggests. “Take care of yourself. Come back refreshed and ready to go.”

Geno promises to do just that before he hangs up and spends the next hour lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying to figure out how to keep his promise.

Finally, he gets up, takes another shower and eats a small breakfast. He drinks his tea while standing at the kitchen counter, then pulls on his shoes.

The temperature outside is in the mid-fifties but the sun is shining bright so he leaves his raincoat behind and steps out onto the sidewalk in his Seattle PD hoodie.

It’s a thirty-minute walk from his apartment to the Space Needle but it feels good to stretch his legs. He takes the forty-three-second elevator ride to the top and exercises the patience of a saint as he makes his way through the mob of tourists on the observation deck.

He finds a space against the glass and looks out over downtown Seattle. There are just more than seven hundred thousand people living in this city, blissfully unaware of the monsters that lurk in the shadows.

Geno shakes his head and keeps walking around the deck. Sid’s not a monster and Geno hopes that, wherever he is right now, Sid knows that.

He snaps a few pictures of the skyline and Mount Rainier in the distance to post on Instagram for his family to see then takes the elevator back down.

He goes to the Museum of Pop Culture next and walks through exhibits about Pearl Jam and superheroes and science fiction. From there it’s Chihuly Garden and Glass and then to Pike Place, where he eats his weight in chowder and pastries and drinks the best cinnamon-orange tea he’s ever had. He takes a photo of the steam rising out of his cup and posts it. A moment later he gets a notification of a comment from Letang.

 _Playing hooky????_ and then a second later, _Hope you’re having fun._

Geno likes the second comment then stretches his legs out on the bench on which he’s sitting and sips his tea.

He ventures out the following day, as well. It’s a few degrees colder but just as sunny with a threat of thunderstorms in the evening. He plans to be home well before that.

His first stop is the aquarium and his second the art museum, stopping in any cafe or shop that catches his eye as he goes. He pokes his way through the neighborhood, getting to know the ins and outs of it in a way he hasn’t allowed himself to before.

He ends up at the Coast Guard museum, where he spends two hours looking at models of ships and photographs that go back to the 1800s. He talks to one of the volunteers — a veteran who has plenty of stories to tell from his years of service — for so long that Geno doesn’t notice the sky darkening outside the window or the rumbles of thunder in the distance.

The storms have rolled in early and, by the time he leaves the museum, the rain is coming down at a steady pace. He’s three miles from home but only one mile away from the bus station and if he runs he can make it in under ten minutes. He pulls his hood up and steps out into the rain.

His sweatshirt absorbs the water fast and by the time he crosses the street and makes it beneath the protection of the overpass he’s drenched.

He slows to a walk under the overpass and pulls his phone out of his pocket, just to make sure that it survived the initial deluge. The screen lights up when he presses the center button and he’s so relieved that he doesn’t see the first hit coming.

He’s blindsided as something heavy and solid plows into his side, knocking him off his feet and sending his phone flying across the pavement. At first he thinks it’s a car, it has to be, because there’s nothing else that could hit him with that amount of force. Then he looks up from where he’s huddled on the sidewalk and sees a tall shadow pass over him and a flash of golden eyes.

“Sid,” he whispers as he tries to pick his head up off the pavement, but he feels dizzy and has to squeeze his eyes shut and put his head back down.

“You’re going to wish it was,” a male voice says very close to his ear. The man punctuates his words with a sharp kick to Geno’s ribs and Geno curls in on himself.

“Just finish him,” another voice says, this one farther away and slightly higher-pitched. Panicked. “Just do it and we’ll leave him for Crosby to find.”

“Why should we make it quick?” the first voice asks, and Geno finds himself being picked up by the back of his sweatshirt like he doesn’t weigh a thing and dropped again. His wrist snaps on the pavement and the sudden flare of pain forces a gasping breath from his lungs and his eyes to fly open. There’s enough watery light coming from the street lamps that Geno can see the men. They’re the ones who were standing behind Ilya in the office at the garage and whatever Sid did to Kaminski and Ilya, they’re out for revenge.

Geno’s picked up again and dragged away from the sidewalk, deep beneath the underpass, presumably so they won’t be seen if any car drives by.

“Do it slowly,” the first man — vampire — says. “Take a good, long taste.” He hauls Geno upright and wraps an arm around Geno’s chest. Geno tries to struggle, but he can’t move. “There has to be some reason why Crosby is so gone on this guy.”

The other vampire hesitates and the one who’s holding him huffs. Geno feels lips on his neck, followed by a white, hot pain that cuts through all of the confusion and everything becomes clear. He knows exactly what’s happening. He’s being bitten and drained of blood and soon he’ll be left for dead down by the waterfront. This is what Alyssa and Kevin felt in their final moments. This is how much it hurt and this is how afraid they were. Geno’s legs feel like jelly and his vision swims and he thinks _this is it_ and _Sid, I’m sorry_ , at the exact same time. He feels like he’s just about to slip away when something slams into him for a second time and he finds himself back on the ground, in pain but still breathing, still alive.

Geno’s barely able to open his eyes into thin slits but it’s enough to see another figure — a familiar one — kneeling over the vampire that had been holding him.

There’s a pointed object in Sid’s hand, a stake, and he draws his arm back and plunges it into the chest of the vampire, who turns to dust beneath him.

Geno’s not sure if Sid’s forgotten the other vampire or he doesn’t view him as a threat but Sid’s not paying attention as the vampire begins to charge toward him.

“Sid,” Geno calls — tries — but his voice is too weak and the sound of the rain and thunder too strong and Sid doesn’t hear him. Geno gathers every ounce of spare energy that he has and flails his legs, stretching them as far as they’ll go, and the vampire stumbles over his feet just enough to buy Sid time to turn and ready himself. The stake slides easily into the vampire’s chest and he crumbles over Sid, turning to ashes and blowing away in a gust of moist air.

“Sid,” Geno whispers, desperate and soft, and Sid drops the stake on the ground and scrambles over.

“It’s okay,” Sid says as he kneels beside him, lifting Geno’s head to rest it on his thigh. “It’s going to be okay.” He presses one hand to Geno’s neck and the other to Geno’s heart. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here,” he says and then adds, “you couldn’t have called a fucking Uber?” Geno laughs, or at least tries to, before his eyes slip shut.

 

-

 

When Geno opens his eyes the first thing he sees is Sid, sitting beside his bed with his head bowed.

His jacket and tie are off and the sleeves of his white dress shirt, which is wrinkled and streaked with dirt, are rolled up to his elbows. He’s holding Geno’s hand between his own and when Geno thinks about reaching out with his free hand and pushing Sid’s hair off his forehead, Sid looks up and meets his gaze.

“Hey,” Sid says, voice thick like honey. “How are you feeling?”

He feels like shit. His wrist hurts, his head aches and he’s cold and weak. He opens his mouth and tries to speak but his throat burns, scratchy and dry, and Sid pulls one of his hands away and reaches for a glass on the nightstand.

“Here,” he says as he holds the straw in front of Geno’s lips. “Drink this, slowly.”

Geno takes a sip and sighs as cold orange juice, sweet and refreshing, spills over his tongue. He drinks and finally takes in his surroundings. He’s in his bedroom, tucked into his bed with the spare blankets he keeps in the closet in the hall over his body. The sweatshirt he was wearing has been replaced by a long-sleeved tee and he’s wearing sweatpants instead of jeans. His hair is damp but it doesn’t feel dirty and the fresh bits of gravel that he knows were embedded in his palms are gone.

Sid brought him home, cleaned him up, tucked him into bed and has been waiting for him to wake up.

Geno lets go of the straw and moves his head and Sid puts the glass back on the table. Then he picks Geno’s hand up again and gives it a light squeeze.

“You’ll have to eat soon, I’ll make you something. And you’ll have to keep drinking. You lost a lot of blood. You’re pretty banged up but nothing’s broken, just bruised and sore. You’re lucky — I’m pretty sure you don’t have a concussion.”

“You doctor?” Geno croaks out and the corners of Sid’s mouth twitch up.

“At one point,” he says. “But it’s been a while.”

Geno has questions about that — he has a million questions — but the searing pain in his neck distracts him and he brings his right hand up to cover the bite marks that he knows are there.

“Hurts more than when you bit me,” he says and Sid looks down at Geno’s hand clasped between his own.

“I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

Geno shrugs off his apology. There are more important things to talk about now.

“How they find me?” Sid pulls Geno’s phone from his pocket and puts it on the bed. The case is missing and the screen is cracked but it lights up when Sid pushes the home button.

“They track me? GPS?”

“You post to Instagram way too often. They knew exactly where you were and at what time.” He shakes his head. “I don’t understand social media. Life was so much simpler without it.” He gives Geno a long look. “When you’re feeling better, we’ll talk.”

“Will talk now,” Geno says then turns his head and coughs into his shoulder. Sid tries to get him to drink more juice but Geno shakes him off. “No, now. Know you know I have questions, now you answer.”

Sid sits back in his chair, the one he dragged in from around the kitchen table, but doesn’t let go of Geno’s hand. “What do you want to know first?”

“You kill Kaminski and Ilya?”

Sid frowns. “You already know that.”

“Want to hear you say it,” Geno tells him and Sid squares his shoulders and looks Geno dead in the eye, cold and unapologetic.

“I killed them,” he says, “because Alek would have killed again and Ilya would have let it happen.”

Before Geno can ask “ _Why?”_ Sid’s answering, “Because Alek is new,” and Geno pulls his hand out of Sid’s grip and presses his index finger over Sid’s mouth to quiet him. “You know what I’m thinking?” Geno asks. He leaves his finger over Sid’s lips until Sid nods and then he drops it. “You know what everyone’s thinking?” “Yes, but not all at once, at least not anymore. It’s something you learn to control,” Sid explains when he catches Geno’s confused look. “The more years you have the better you are at singling people out. I don’t walk down the street knowing what everyone’s thinking. I can be selective now.”

“That how you know who’s guilty and who’s not?”

Sid nods. “People can lie to other people but they can’t lie to themselves. I know people don’t like what I do and I know what they think of me …”

“Is right thing.”

“Yeah, but I can’t explain that. I can’t tell them how I know.” His shoulders sag. “I just want to help and these people that I defend, they’re the ones no one else will help. I have all this time that’s been given to me. I want to do something with it that matters.”

“Think you are,” Geno says and Sid gives him a tight smile. “You always listen to me? Never turn off?”

Sid’s smile turns genuine. “I hardly even need to listen to your thoughts to know what you’re thinking. You’re so expressive. You have no poker face.”

“Do too,” Geno says, but Sid rolls his eyes. He knows it’s a lie.

Geno lets the moment of levity wash over them for a moment before he breaks it, turning serious again and asking, “how you know Kaminski would kill again?”

“Because that’s the kind of person he was. When you change, everything is amplified, your abilities and your impulses … if you don’t have someone there to help you and you don’t want to be helped, you’re going to go crazy with it. You’re reckless and selfish and dangerous. Ilya never should have turned him.”

“Why did he?”

“He wanted control and this was the quickest way to get it. Most of us try to keep to ourselves — we don’t want attention or trouble — but Ilya has always thrived off of it.”

“How’d you get involved with them?”

“They thought they could control me just because of what I decided to do here. If I had picked a different profession, like a bus driver or a chef or a teacher, they wouldn’t even know my name. But because I’m a lawyer —.”

“And they’re criminals …” Geno finishes for him and Sid nods. “How many vampires here?”

“Hard to say,” Sid says, “but more than you think. Seattle is a popular spot and new vamps are always coming in as the ones that have been here for a while move on. We try to blend in, have normal jobs. You probably pass a dozen of us on your way to work every morning and you don’t even know it.”

“Anymore that will come after me? Or you?”

“There shouldn’t be. What I’ve done should be enough to scare them off but if there are I’ll take care of it.” He brings Geno’s hand up to his lips and kisses his knuckles. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Geno reaches out with the hand that Sid’s not holding and cards his fingers through Sid’s hair, soft as silk beneath his touch. He curls his fingers around Sid’s ear then presses the tips to the hinge of his jaw so Sid has to look up.

“Why me?” he asks and Sid tips his head in confusion. He wasn’t expecting that question. “Why would you do all this for me? What’s so special?”

“What are you talking about?”

Geno drops his hand to Sid’s chin and holds it in his palm. “Sid, when I look at you, I think you could have anyone you want. But you pick me. You risk life for me, you kill for me. I don’t get it. Why me?”

Sid tilts his face and kisses the center of Geno’s palm. “I’ve been alone for so long,” he says, and Geno drops his hand from Sid’s face.

“Not alone,” he points out. “I saw you with that man at the bar.”

“That’s not the same,” Sid stutters out and Geno knows this is the closest he’s going to get to seeing Sid flustered. “It’s not the same thing. It’s just easy with him because he’s ...”

“He have poor circulation, too?” Geno deadpans and Sid huffs out a small laugh.

“Yeah. Exactly. But it’s not the same. He’s just a way to pass the time.”

“And I’m not?”

“No,” Sid says with a convincing shake of his head. “You never were, right from the first moment I saw you. I could tell you were lonely, that you were feeling a little lost. I could relate to that. That’s how I’ve been moving through this world. I deliberately don’t make connections with people, I’m constantly moving around, never settling down. But I wanted to talk to you, to hear your story, get to know you. And it was so worth it. It was obvious how much you care about your job and how much you want to do what’s right. You’re so smart and funny and ...” Sid pauses and looks up at Geno. “You have to know how handsome you are.”

“Then why’d you leave? Why’d you let me think you don’t care?” Sid’s quiet for a moment and Geno wishes he could read Sid’s thoughts for a change. “I’ve never paid much attention to humans,” he says. “Why would I? I can only stay in one place for so long before I have to leave and start over somewhere else. They can’t know too much about me, they can’t meet my family, I can’t bring them back to my hometown and show them where I grew up. I wouldn’t even recognize it. It would all be lies.”

“I’ll die,” Geno says simply, and Sid’s eyes snap to his. Geno shrugs. “You have forever and I have, what? Another sixty years if I’m real lucky. What is sixty years to you?”

“Nothing,” Sid admits softly. “But I know I want to spend as much time as I can with you. All of it.”

“So you can leave me when you don’t like the way I look anymore? When I’m sixty and have grey hair and the sex —.”

“It’s not about the sex,” Sid says sharply, and Geno puts his hand gently on the side of Sid’s face.

“You will always be like this, always perfect, and I won’t. Don’t have to pretend. Maybe is okay for now while the sex is still good —.”

“I want more than sex,” Sid says. “I want it to be more.”

Geno sighs and Sid has the nerve to look heartbroken, an impossible feat. “You don’t believe me,” he says, and Geno takes a deep breath. He doesn't know _what_ he believes. A week ago he didn’t believe vampires were real but now, here he is, sitting beside one that saved his life and now wants to be a major part of it.

Geno presses his thumb to the middle of Sid’s bottom lip and when Sid pushes himself up for a kiss, Geno doesn’t stop him.

“Have to think,” Geno says when they pull apart. “Whole world is different now. Have to think about things.”

Sid nods and kisses his temple before he stands. “I understand. You know where to find me if you need me.”

Geno nods and Sid gathers his jacket and his tie from off the back of the chair. He looks back at Geno before he steps out of the bedroom and then it’s like the first time all over again as Geno lies back and listens for the door to softly shut behind Sid on his way out.

 

-

 

“So tell me again how this happened?” Geno rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “I tell you already bunch of times.”

“Yeah,” Letang agrees with a huge smile on his face. “But tell me again. It makes me happy.”

“My pain makes you happy?”

“How exactly it happened does.”

Geno sighs. “Was walking into my apartment building and floor was wet. I slipped and ...” He gestures to his face and his wrist, to the fat lip and the sprain that are still lingering. “Now you know. I tell you. Again.”

Letang laughs. “I wish I could have seen that,” he says and then sobers. “But I’m glad you’re okay.” He looks Geno over. “You look better, all things considered. It’s amazing what a couple of days off will do, isn’t it?”

Geno makes a noncommittal noise as he turns back to his work. Because of his injuries and the lack of leads about Kaminski’s whereabouts, Geno’s been on desk duty, catching up on paperwork. It’s mindless work but Geno finds the monotony soothing. He’s so caught up in filing and organizing that he doesn’t have time for his mind to wander to Sid, most of the time. Sometimes, while he’s all alone in the evidence locker or deep within the archives looking up old reports, he thinks about how it’s been almost two weeks since he’s seen Sid or how when he woke up after Sid left there was a full glass of orange juice and a bottle of water on the nightstand that weren’t there when he fell asleep or how in the fridge there was a perfectly cooked steak and a spinach salad waiting for him. Sid had agreed to leave him be, but not before he came back one last time to make sure he was properly fed.

He thinks about how, with every corner that he takes, he half expects to run right into Sid and how he wishes that he would. How when he went to visit Alyssa’s grave and leave flowers, there was already a fresh bouquet resting against the stone.

Geno thinks about how much he misses Sid and how this life without him isn’t much of a life after all.

 

-

 

It’s a longshot that Sid will be at the bar on a Tuesday night, but Geno goes anyway.

Sid’s booth — their booth — is empty when he sits down at the bar but by the time he has his drink there’s a tickle running down his spine. When he turns around Sid is sitting there, waiting for him.

Geno picks up his drink and walks over. When he gets close he gestures to the empty table and asks, “Can I buy you drink? Or … do you drink? Is not …” he waves his hand around and Sid ducks his head and laughs. “For show. You like it?”

“I drink,” Sid says as he taps his finger against the glass. “I like it.”

“Do you eat?” Geno asks and Sid stares up at him with wide eyes. “If we got dinner sometime, could you eat it?”

Sid smiles and his eyes go soft. “Yeah,” he says. “I can do that, too.”

 

-

 

Sid suggests an upscale steakhouse in the heart of downtown, the kind for which you have to book a reservation a year in advance.

“I have connections,” Sid says and it’s tempting, to be wined and dined like that, but Geno turns him down and leads him to a twenty-four-hour diner a few blocks from his apartment. The grease-to-food ratio is tipped heavily in the former’s favor but that’s what makes it good, he swears, as he holds the door open for Sid and ushers him in, desperate to get out of the steadily falling rain.

“Not Italian,” Geno says, only half joking. “No garlic.”

Sid rolls his eyes as he sits down on the opposite side of the booth.

“You have a lot to learn about myths and facts,” he says as the waitress comes over to take their drink orders.

It’s small talk from there, what they did at work today, what cases they’re working on or what they read in the newspaper this morning that might interest the other.

Geno waits for their food to arrive before he breaks into the serious stuff, like the turkey club and fries in front of him will act as a buffer if Sid shoots him down and doesn’t want to talk.

“Tell me,” Geno says as he drags a fry through ketchup.

Sid looks up from the burger he ordered, exasperated at the grease dripping down to his wrist as he picks it up.

“Tell you what?”

Geno pops the fry in his mouth. “Everything.”

Sid looks up and puts the burger down. Then he starts to talk.

He tells Geno about growing up in Nova Scotia back when it was only small fishing villages dotting the coast and miles and miles of untouched shore. He grew up with a younger sister, a father who fished and a mother who baked. He joined his father out on the boat and took over the family business as soon as he was old enough. He had heard stories about the undead since he was a boy, but he thought they were just that, stories, until one night he was coming in from the docks too late and was attacked. Sid tells him about how he ran, afraid that he’d hurt his family if he stayed, and how he didn’t want to take that chance.

“I never saw them again,” Sid says quietly. He’s looking down at his plate and his hands are balled into fists on the table. Geno reaches over and covers one with his own hand. Sid looks up and turns his hand over so they’re palm to palm.

“I don’t know what would have happened if Mario hadn’t found me,” he says. Mario helped him learn to control himself and to blend into society and keep himself hidden in plain sight. He’s what Kaminski needed and never got. “Last I heard he was living in Montreal.”

Sid’s lived all over the world. India, Colombia, New Zealand, just chasing the rain and the clouds. He’s graduated college dozens of times, picking a new subject to study each time, trying to learn as much as he could. He’s been a doctor, a coal miner, an accountant, a journalist, a bartender, just to name a few.

“I even worked security,” Sid says. “Night shift, of course. I’ve done a lot. Been a lot of places.”

“And now you here,” Geno says.

“And now I’m here,” Sid repeats as he links their fingers together. “This might be my favorite spot I’ve ever been.”

Geno feigns offense and tries to pulls his hand back. “Might be. I leave right now if you’re not sure.”

Sid holds on tight and laughs, the sound of it the warmest thing Geno has ever heard and he smiles, wincing slightly as his still healing split lip pulls.

Sid’s own smile dims a bit as he looks Geno over. “Would it hurt if I kissed you?” he asks. Geno tips his head to the side, considering.

“Maybe we go find out.”

 

-

 

Back at his apartment Geno tips his head to the side and breathes out, long and even.

Sid noses a line from Geno’s collarbone to his ear and back down again and Geno wants this, all of it. He wants Sid pressed against him, too turned on and filled with lust to even make it to the bedroom. But he also wants late-night dinners and quiet conversations. What Geno learned tonight was the tip of the iceberg of Sid’s life and he wants to learn more. He wants to learn every last detail and he wants Sid learn his. He wants this for as long as he can have it. He wants a lifetime with Sid and then, maybe even more. Forever wouldn’t seem as daunting if he got to do it with Sid by his side.

“Sid.” He threads his fingers through the soft hair at the back of Sid’s head and pulls him back. Sid’s eyes are bright and his lips are a deep, wine-red and Geno loves him.

The thought hits him square in the chest and Sid pulls him down to rest their foreheads together.

He knows. Of course he knows.

“Me too,” he says softly. “I love you, too.”

Geno nods then presses his head back against the wall. He wants a lot but, right now, he wants one more thing.

He tips his head again, showing off the long line of his neck, and he feels Sid’s fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re sure?” he asks and Geno nods. He’s never been more sure of anything.

Sid kisses him, long and slow, until Geno’s almost dizzy with it. Sid pulls away, licks his lips, then gives no other warning before he sinks his teeth into Geno’s skin, making Geno gasp then sigh as he melts into Sid. If this is what forever feels like, he wants it as soon as possible.

“I love you,” Geno whispers because he wants to say it, he wants Sid to _hear_ it and Sid brings his hand up and lays it over Geno’s heart.

Outside a flash of lightning illuminates the sky. In the distance, thunder rolls.


End file.
